


Carolina Reaper

by Feekins



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Consensual Non-Consent, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, Implied impact play, M/M, No Sex, Panic Attacks, Safeword Use, Safewords, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26668258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feekins/pseuds/Feekins
Summary: When kink exploration turns too hot to handle, it helps to have a fitting safeword and a partner who is no stranger to fighting fires.ORYet another food-inspired prompt fill from the Ace Omens server!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 76
Collections: Spice Rack





	Carolina Reaper

The hand in his hair gripped hard enough to make his scalp sear. It fanned the flames of fear already burning within Crowley as he was dragged further into the office. He stumbled, barely able to keep up with his captor. At least it was a short trip. All too soon, his hips cracked against the edge of the desk as he was forcibly bent over it, his cheek pressing against cold marble. A snap, the ethereal chime of a miracle, and the hug of his belt vanished. Fear burned, blood ran cold.

"Worthless creature," the soldier of Heaven sneered behind Crowley. "I'll teach _you_ not to run!"

Tearing fabric, the shock of cold air on his now-exposed ass. He tried to struggle, but then, the soldier yanked his head back, and...something changed. That fear, immense and _raw_ , was spinning into a wildfire, burning out of control in a way that somehow wasn't _right_...and in the midst of the blaze, there was a word. A single important word came to mind. Crowley didn't think - he _couldn't_ , but then, he didn't need to.

A voice - small, trembling, oddly distant.

" _Kelvin_."

Immediately, his hair was released. His cheek found the cool surface of the desk again, but beyond that, Crowley remained rooted on the spot. He didn't dare move, some animalistic part of him expecting swift retribution if he did so. Surely, this was a trap...

"...Crowley?"

Normally, in response to that gentle voice, something within him would release - like a helplessly-tangled knot at last untied. Yes, the fantasy was over now. Crowley was _sure_ he knew that. What he _didn't_ know was why he was shaking, or why he was suddenly thankful for the curls that had fallen to pool over his face.

"I'm going to turn you around now, darling. Is that okay?"

His reply was pitiful - a jerking nod, a threadbare whine he didn't even try to suppress. It pitched up sharply, jolting at Aziraphale's initial touch, and Crowley felt himself burn brighter, shame like an unfinished bottle of alcohol smashed into the heart of a towering bonfire. A mess of an apology spilled from his lips, but Aziraphale was quick to clean up after it, soft hands guiding Crowley upright as he did so.

"Hush, hush. There's nothing to say you're sorry for."

"... _ngh_."

Though he'd obediently turned to face the angel, Crowley couldn't seem to lift his head, couldn't bring himself to make eye contact even through the shelter that was his curtain of hair. It was getting quite long...long enough to play with in _all sorts_ of different ways...but now, with a movement that was slow and deliberate and _devastatingly_ tender, Aziraphale swept long bangs behind one ear. Then, when he cupped Crowley's cheek...all of the sudden, there was nowhere the demon could think to look but into the pair of blue eyes before him.

"Do you hear me?" The sure words and the fond, reassuring smile with which they were spoken cut through the flying ash that muddled Crowley's mind - like a crisp breeze carrying the promise of cleansing rain. "You've done _nothing_ wrong, my dear."

On some level, Crowley was _aware_ of the presence of a sense of relief at this, and he _wanted_ it to wash over him...but it didn't. Why wouldn't it take him? Why did the nod he gave Aziraphale feel a smidge frantic? Why was it so hard just to force the word "okay" from his mouth?

_Why wasn't Crowley okay?_

"There's a love," Aziraphale sighed, still smiling. "My sweet, brave boy..."

Those blue eyes were _piercing_ , though, no doubt seeing straight through the trembling demon - and so, the fires of shame leapt higher, fed into the vast inferno consuming Crowley from the inside out. He wanted to _run_ , but he wanted to _stay_ , but he wanted to _claw out of his own skin-!_

"Crowley?"

It took him a moment to realize Aziraphale was talking to him again. All Crowley could manage was a grunt in response.

"May I ask which part of it crossed the line?"

Line? What line? It didn't matter now - this fearful wildfire was worse, getting worse by the second, so Crowley shook his head, fought to force his voice to _work, bless it_.

"B...Burns."

Aziraphale's smile vanished without a trace. Blue eyes - sharp, observant - danced over Crowley's body...

"Burns _where?_ Are you hurt?"

...and now, the angel thought he'd injured him, and that was _untenable_. Shaking his head hard enough to make himself dizzy, Crowley gestured wildly at himself. He couldn't explain - not like this, not when words failed and he was too wound up, burning too hot, almost _certainly_ about to suffocate...

"Just, it-! J...!"

And the _shaking_... Crowley was coming apart at the seams, and Aziraphale's hands on his shoulders weren't _nearly_ enough to keep him together. He wanted to _run_ but he wanted to _stay_ but-!

"Okay." It _wasn't_...but Aziraphale's voice was so calm and steady, it made Crowley want to believe it _could_ be. "Just...try to breathe for me."

"C-! I ca-! _Can't_ , I-!"

" _Yes you can_. Remember those lungs, love, let them expand..."

And it hurt. It hurt to breathe. Crowley's throat was on fire and his chest was full of embers, but the warmth in Aziraphale's hands was _kind_ and _safe_ like a hearth, and his encouraging smile was a blanket that smothered the wildfire's smaller flames, stopping their spread...

"Like that, good. In...out..."

...and then, the charred remains of Crowley's supporting timbers buckled. He slumped forward, instinctively sought out the crook of Aziraphale's neck, let his smoke-blackened lungs fill with familiar musk and cologne, tried to ignore the way his eyes were beginning to sting. He was going to cry - by now, it was inevitable - but at least, as the angel held him close, falling apart didn't seem quite so scary anymore.

Another breath. There was a hand in Crowley's hair again, but this time, it was soft, safe, _home_.

"...angel?"

"Hm?"

"It _burns_."

"I know, darling, but I _promise_ it'll go away. You'll be alright - I'll make sure of it..."

**Author's Note:**

> It never fails: You're stuck on your WIPs for months, and then you get really inspired by your own joke prompt and churn out a one-shot in only a few days.
> 
> Oops.
> 
> As always, special thanks to the Ace Omens server! Y'all are awesome and I love you <3
> 
> And thank YOU for reading! If you have a moment, would you mind telling me what you think of this fic? Feedback helps me a lot! All I ask is that comments refrain from asking for more or even mentioning planned future works like new chapters on my other fics. My therapist and I have actually found that this messes with my writing process, turning it into a big point of anxiety for me, so. Yeah. It's nothing against anyone! Just a part of continuing to improve how I manage the more distressing effects of my neurodivergencies - like Crowley having Aziraphale to help him come down.


End file.
